


Throwing Love At Blue

by sassyseme



Category: Mass Effect (Comics), Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Canon Divergance, Crime, Depression, Drinking, Drug Use, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Xenophobia, ignorance, unlikely companions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28539978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassyseme/pseuds/sassyseme
Summary: “If it’s hard to live like this, then change it. I’m not a hero, I just have to keep fighting evil no matter what!” Lantar had never heard such words in his life, nor did he suspect that meeting that blue turian would change him forever.—A story after Shepard’s death about the difficult life on Omega’s south districts and the gangs that wrestle for power. This is how fighting back sparks a new group to rise up - team Archangel.
Relationships: Lantar Sidonis/Garrus Vakarian, Lantar Sidonis/Other(s)
Kudos: 3





	Throwing Love At Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lantar doesn’t love or hate anything in his life; he exists and keeps out of trouble... usually.
> 
> Theme warnings: includes questionable consent, drugs, dangerous night life.

**Part 1 - Drinking Buddies**

Omega was a peculiar city with its own way of existing. If there was one word to describe it, that would be _filthy._

The phrases that came to mind when tourists looked back on their days visiting were, “Sod off,” and, “Hand over your credits.” Maybe even, “Don’t fuck with Aria,” if they were important enough to be invited into Afterlife. 

Lantar never quite understood why the shady asteroid attracted anyone who had enough money and wherewithal to live somewhere else.

“Doesn’t that make you a hypocrite?” 

He chuckled in response, staring over the floating asteroids in the sky, some so small that they looked like black stars against the dark orange haze. The rough dystopia had given him trouble sleeping the first few months, always afraid that someone would knock on his door, but eventually like all who emigrated to Omega, he adjusted. 

“Yeah, it does.” 

_But that’s fine._

“It’s like you don’t even know what will happen next, Lantar.” 

_That’s also fine._

“Maybe I’ll be mugged tomorrow, or that barbecue place will close, but I’ll keep on living. That’s how people think here.” 

“That’s a morbid way to think,” the voice on his omni-tool responded.

Lantar rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. A sip of alcohol skated his tongue before he said, “I keep my head down.” Sometimes. “I would leave if I had to.”

A deep sigh met him. “I _used_ to believe you when you said that a year ago. I’m starting to think maybe you like it there.”

Lantar glazed over the highway, watching cars go by with a grim smile. He put down his drink, feeling an irritated ping at the back of his skull. “You don’t have to call anymore.” 

Not that they spoke often as it was.

“I-” the voice struggled, “I know, I just worry.”

Silence met him as he sat upright and leaned into the orange glow, staring at the voice line’s soft spikes, the pattern of breathing. 

“I’m hanging up,” Lantar said quietly.

The other sounded hurt. “Okay… Spirits, I’m going to go. Make sure you eat something, not just alcohol.”

“Bye.”

After a moment, the screen went black, and his ears could return to focusing on the sounds of the city outside of his 10th-floor apartment that overlooked the raucous highway. He continued drinking, counting how many times a car almost slammed into another. Such was life. He didn’t love it nor hate it.

His phone rang.

~*~

The one thing that could stir Lantar from a tipsy haze was the ringtone of his only friend calling. But, again, he was two drinks in and knocked his omni-tool off the crate where he’d set it down.

 _Ring-ding-ding-it’s-me-hun!_ the recording chimed once more.

“Shit,” he crawled onto his knees and reached a careful two talons close to the bars of the gate separating him and a long death. The tool was retrieved before it could fall, and he pressed answer.

“Oh, thank you!” subharmonics rang out over what sounded like jazz music.

“What’s wrong?” Lantar asked in a hurry.

“Everything,” a voice whined out, “This bar is so dry. I’m not being hit on at all. Save me?”

Lantar blinked, staring for a moment at the screen. 

“Hello?”

“That’s it? You want me to come drinking?”

“What a great idea!”

Lantar opened his mouth.

“See you then. Love ya.”

The line cut.

 _Spirits-really-_ Lantar rolled his eyes, seeing a message pop up with a location. _And here I thought you were inebriated._

He betrayed his negative thoughts as he pulled himself up from his sad heap on the ground and stretched. Taking one last glance over the highway, he entered the small apartment to find his gloves and shirt. Spirits knew he would go drink on a Monday night, damn his morning shift.

~*~

The outside air felt dry and smoggy as Lantar left his apartment, first looking around for signs of thugs. His area wasn’t the worst, but you could never be too careful, especially at night. After paying last month and this month’s rent, he didn’t have many credits to spare.

Lantar paced along the streets of the South District carefully, hands shoved into his pockets and his head kept down. There weren’t any kids out, which he was glad for, he hated seeing that-

“Hey!” a young voice said behind him, making him swear. _It’s always when I fucking think of something._

“Tish,” he said without turning around, continuing to walk at his hurried pace.

“You’ve been drinking. Smells like a BAC of .05. Alcohol dulls the senses, you know, but you can still drive.” Everyone drove drunk on Omega.

“Thanks, I didn’t know that,” he mumbled. Why did even the smaller salarians have to be smart-alecs? 

“Where are you going?”

“Just for a walk.”

“Can I come?”

“You should head home. Aren’t you like ten now? It’s night, go cuddle up with a teddy bear like the human kids do.” Why did they do that? Humans had so many habits.

 _“Twelve,”_ she said in an irritated voice. “And I do not need an inanimate object to sleep, that is ridiculous.” 

That he could agree on.

The red-faced salarian continued to follow him. She wasn’t tall, standing up to his ribs, but he could hear her steps behind him trying to keep up, words huffing out. “Also, you said, ‘night.’ Omega doesn’t have a night because there’s no sun in the nebula, it’s better classified as a-”

“Pseudo-darkness, _I know.”_ Lantar rolled his eyes. 

Despite no sun, there was a socially accepted form of night-time where clubs opened and legitimate stores closed, leaving much less light than the morning, allowing the full haze of darkness to take the asteroid.

“Good.” She huffed, satisfied that he wasn’t completely uneducated. “By the way, where are we going?”

 _“We_ aren’t going anywhere.”

Lantar didn’t stop at the intersection, knowing it didn’t matter if he looked both ways. Cars would fly anywhere they could fit. He did glance over his shoulder to make sure she crossed, though, noting that she had a pistol strapped to her hip. When she approached, he could hear a soft growl from her stomach, prompting her embarrassed face.

“Here.” He sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a meal voucher for one bowl of ramen in the lower market. “Eat dinner and go straight home, Tish. _No_ detours.”

Her eyes lit up, snatching the vinyl from his hand. His _last_ one… dammit. 

“Okay! Make sure to stay hydrated. I won’t be around if you pass out. Remember, it was right there.” She pointed to a bench in a clearing.

Lantar squinted hard at the girl, feeling slightly annoyed as she left before allowing him the last word. _That was one time… ugh._

He could see two drunk mercs stumble out of her way as she skipped down the street, seeming more like a happy child than a salarian with an overdeveloped mind.

“Shit, you almost hit her-”

“It’s just a girl-” _Hic._ “D-dumbass.”

“No way, that looked like Ish’s sister, man.”

“Oh, shit, that salarian bastard?”

Lantar honestly couldn’t imagine growing up on Omega like the kids there. With a brother in smuggling, she probably already had money for dinner. 

Wait. 

Was he just scammed? 

“Damn Spirits,not again!”

~*~

“My love!” a turian named Skinner shouted out loud enough for the entire bar to hear, making Lantar march to him with a blue face. He passed rows of chuckling heads before making it to the counter at the back.

 _“Please_ behave,” hissed Lantar.

The bar was a small establishment that he hadn’t frequented, but Skinner must have, denoted by how comfortably he was slumped over the counter. Lantar recognized a few familiar faces from nights out and at work.

“This one yours?” the bare-faced bartender asked, pouring a glass of water and pushing it forward. 

There was something about the turian that gave him pause. Lantar took note of his _very_ sharp mandibles and black markings, a new face to remember. Then he nodded, patting a hand on the shoulder of Skinner while he drank. “Yeah, all mine.”

Skinner sighed and placed the empty glass back, his faculties returning.

“Unfortunately,” Lantar added, staring down at the guy who had the nerve to call _him_ and then start drinking first. 

_“Good,”_ the bartender said in a hard voice, his entire demeanor changing as he pushed a tablet across the counter. “You can pay his tab.”

Lantar didn’t outright show the horror as he stared down at all of the zeroes, but his heart beat faster. If the bartender was sober, he had picked up the slight change in scent before it was concealed. Skinner smiled up at Lantar with those diagonal marks that stretched across his face, making his head tilt seem all the more innocent.

“Skinner…”

“My loov-”

“How the hell did you drink _this_ much?”

Skinner tightened his mandibles, a touch of offense in his subtone. “I only had _two_ ginger rockets.”

The bartender crossed his arms. “Plus the last five times you were here.”

“...plus that, haha...”

Lantar sighed, staring at the intense look between the two of them, and then opened his credit chit, heart aching at the scarce portion of his last paycheck leaving in seconds. If being poor was a feeling… _ugh._ In the next breath, Skinner sprang from his seat with a chipper hum, wrapping his arms around Lantar’s cowl. He gave him a thank-you bump on the nose, a happy scent about him.

“Don’t mention it…” Lantar mumbled, allowing his lifeless body to be dragged out of the bar onto the club strip, nodding goodbye to the few faces that met him with more chuckles. 

There they went, the usual pair.

“Feeling better without debt hanging over you?” he asked.

With a giggle, Skinner nodded. “I’ll pay you back~ promise.”

Lantar sighed, too tired to determine if the words were truth or fiction.

In minutes of their walking to the club they frequented, he had already squashed it. The music was loud enough that it was muffled outside the entrance.

“Let’s dance, I could use it,” Lantar said.

“That’s the spirit, babe!”

~*~

The Hive was a club that mostly same-sex pairings frequented, which was ironic compared to the fact that its founder was fairly homophobic and even disliked turians to boot, a leftover sentiment from first contact. That same club found new ownership within two months of opening after an accidental car crash. There wasn't a funeral, but his pyjak found a loving home. 

Lantar’s mood about money faded as he split a round of cocktails with Skinner, deciding that he was used to the other turian’s shenanigans. The first drink - or third, technically - hit his throat like acid, leaving him gagging and pounding a fist against his chest. The second drink killed him.

“How do you even drink this stuff!?” he shouted over the blaring music, the room starting to spin.

Skinner leaned closer in their booth, yelling back, “It’s nothing compared to the stuff at home!” And then he laughed in that funny way of his, reminding Lantar that he was from the boonies, a name for outer cluster colonies, and not Palaven like most turians. He looked it, too, with his slanted facial tattoo and yellow tint on his fringe. It was beautiful to observe. 

“Hey, I meant to ask,” Skinner whispered in his ear, moving fully into his space, one arm slithering around his shoulders, “Did something happen?”

Lantar turned his head slightly, their cheeks almost rubbing as his eyes focused elsewhere, mainly on the green-marked turian with broad shoulders dancing in the middle of the floor. 

“Yum.”

“What?”

“I, uh—why?”

“Well… you seemed upset when you picked me up, Lan.”

Skinner’s eyes were caring when he met him. He couldn’t lie to caring, nosy hazel eyes like that.

“Phone call.” That and Lantar’s dark expression was enough to tell Skinner who it was and why. 

“Ughhhh, again?” He made a face. “Your issues are out of this cluster.”

Lantar sighed and shrugged, prompting him to stop his thought. “Don’t wanna talk about it. Let’s dance.”

Skinner looked surprised, digesting the words, and then his face beamed. After swallowing down his poisonous drink at an unhealthy pace, he yanked Lantar to his feet, wiggling to the center of the floor. 

Once they were dancing, Lantar couldn’t help but laugh as Skinner started shaking his hips to the loud techno blasting in their ears. He looked like a beanpole, he was so slender. Not all turians were identical, but Skinner was especially thin and had such a small waist that Lantar could wrap his arms around him. He wore a sleeveless shirt that had been intentionally ripped at the stomach and arms.

Skinner danced in his hold for a moment, spinning and laughing with him. They had conversations with their eyes every time someone danced near enough to be checked out. No one stood out. 

Lantar definitely drank his share, but it felt good to accidentally bump shoulders on the floor. When they moved apart, music pumping in his ears, he noticed a body moving close to Skinner. He raised a brow, rolling his eyes at Skinner’s grin. A brave turian touched his arm and then his waist, one with white markings webbed from chin to forehead.

Skinner purred into his touch, dancing against him. Lantar gave him a quick look and was returned with a nod. The two disappeared, leaving Lantar alone on the floor. He didn’t mind, the lights flashing over his head were a welcome distraction. 

Dancing freely was different from a work night where he had to impress people. Bodies moved around him, but he paid them no thought, grateful for the dull burn of the alcohol and the chance to forget everything.

 _There._ Across the room. His eyes locked onto the green turian watching him, ogling down his hips as he turned suggestively.

 _You see it._ Lantar smirked. He continued to enjoy himself but would glance over his shoulder every so often, just an invitation.

By the time Skinner returned, looking annoyed, minutes must have passed. Lantar found himself sharing the bitter sentiment considering the green turian _only_ looked at him, and nothing more. Fucking tease.

“Hey,” they said at the same time in plain voices.

Lantar spoke first. “Let’s grab one more drink and get out of here.”

~*~

“So, what happened with that guy? He had really nice marks.” It was still dark and empty on the streets as they stood in front of the club, able to hear properly. People were still entering, proof that the night was young.

Skinner crossed his arms. “I don’t even want to talk about it.” That meant he still would. “He asked for a _private show,_ like I’m some asari dancer.”

“A what?” Lantar blinked.

“Like, why would you even ask that? Do I look like a freaking dancer?”

“Kind of.” Lan glanced over Skin’s outfit, considering he had borrowed it once.

“Sometimes I wonder if all sympathizers like this, I swear…”

They were the only two nearing an alley in the club strip, but Lantar looked around awkwardly and whispered, “Uh, turn the xeno stuff down a notch.”

“Right, sorry.” Skinner winced, rubbing his head. “That wasn’t cool.” 

Lantar forgave him, knowing being from the outer colonies couldn’t be easy, _but still,_ he wasn’t trying to get overheard by someone with an asari partner, usually a krogan mercenary. Even in a turian-frequented area, he didn’t take chances.

“Maybe he thought you were working tonight?” Lantar asked, head lulling from the drunkenness. 

“I’m a freaking bartender.” Skinner crossed his arms tight, frustration and hurt in his voice as he whispered, “Lan, it’s not the first time that someone has asked that. I just… I don't know if it’s because I’m from way out.”

Lantar placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tight. “Then he was being an ass. Screw him.”

Skinner huffed. “Believe me, I wanted to.”

Working at the club was how he and Skinner met one year prior. Skinner was replacing a bartender who got shot in a different district, and they hit it off immediately. There are those who avoid colony-born, but Lantar found Skinner refreshing compared to most turians who only talked about mainstream military gossip or how much they love-hated dying for the cause.

When it was closing time one morning, Skinner blatantly yelled to Lantar across the club that he had a great ass and should be on pole instead of security. The manager was surprised at the time, and everyone looked at Lantar, but then they saw what Skinner saw. His job was switched the next week. Lower pay, but way better tips. 

“Let’s go, thanks for coming out.” Skinner held his hand and they took their walk home. 

Lantar leaned on his shoulder as they passed alongside a road that looked over eezo mining plants. They said nothing else on the journey. He was lost in his own thoughts.

“Thanks,” Skinner said in front of his home, leaning forward to touch faces.

“Boonies.” Lantar earned a smack on the shoulder. 

“Come onnn.” Skinner huffed, a hand on his hip.

Lantar smirked and leaned up to bump noses, then he touched foreheads with him, rubbing for a moment, a purr in his mouth.

“Get home saaafe,” Skinner yawned, letting his hand go to wave as he turned into the short apartment building and disappeared behind the doors. Lantar watched for a light, then sighed, turning back to the road.

There were cracks of starlight to the sky, not quite the morning, many hours until. Lantar knew that he would have a shift at the club, but he desperately wished someone would suddenly switch with him.

 _Beep._ He furrowed his brow, opening his mail. _No, would that be too much of a coincidence?_ A message popped up and he scoffed.

_“If you don’t send this to five friends before midnight tonight then something bad will happen. Don’t believe it? Roshtak from Kima district says…”_

“Chain mail.” Lantar rolled his eyes. Then he smirked and sent it to Skinner, knowing the small-town guy was superstitious. 

Lantar chuckled to himself as he walked for ten more minutes and made it to his intersection, not bothering to look both ways. It was almost too silent for such a nice night. He definitely passed his limits a drink or two back. 

_“Watch out!”_

He calmly crossed, suddenly catching a blur in his vision. A car with no lights on drew close, making his dulled instincts crawl into his stomach. _Shit._ So that’s how it ends. Smacked by an automobile after drinking not even enough to kill a rachni. Dry laughter crept up from his throat.

At first, he saw a blue wall. The car had hit him and he was dead. Sorry, Skinner. I’m glad you got home safe. You made great drinks.

_“Hey! Get up!”_

Lantar opened his eyes, an ache at the back of his neck. The blue from the car was gone, it had transformed into a blue supersuit. “Fuck am I drunk.” He almost leaned his head back but was held up by something, an arm.

“Shit...”

Spirits. The transformer fucking talked. He snapped his eyes open again, noting the weight that removed itself from him and the inaudible loud noise in the distance. 

He wouldn’t be able to tell, but a man named Zaeed with a rough London accent shouted, “OUT OF THE ROAD YE FOOKIN PANSIES,” before speeding off into the city in his very-much-stolen car. 

It was quiet again.

“Who…” Lantar sat up, staring at the face that spun in circles around him. Blue markings. Blue suit. What a flex. “Am I…” He meant to say _are you,_ but he needed a moment to get his faculties after being rammed into by a guy built like an automobile. _Damn, if only…_

“Can you get up?” automobile hottie asked.

His limbs flailed sloppily as he supported his own weight, pulled halfway to his feet by the stranger.

“You almost walked right into that car,” and the turian’s voice sounded like a fresh engine roar. There had to be ASMR for it somewhere. Blue suit. Revving voice. _Vroom, yes please._

“Thanks, I’m f-” Lantar froze, then shoved the stranger away to sprint - or maybe waddle - to the nearest trash can. In seconds, he’d emptied out his stomach. That was better than sleeping on the bench.

The turian looked horrified when Lantar stood up unsteadily. It was blurry, but he could see again—he was tall, lengthy, and strong with nice, even mandibles. He had shiny facial plates and a _shinier_ gun at his hip. M-15 Vindicator, the kind that Blue Suns carried around, _expensive._

_Nope,_ scratch the rest.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Lantar shook his head, turning foot as he spoke. “I’m fine. Should have looked where I was going. Thanks and goodbye. Get home safe.” He didn’t know why he added the last part, but it felt right.

There was a chuckle as he crossed the road at break-neck speed, still not bothering to look both ways. Trouble. Being that polished up was trouble, and Lantar speed-walked as fast as he could while being impaired. It looked more like a waddle with his arms straight out but it got the job done.

_Hell no, not touching that with a three-meter talon._

No resistance met him, which he thanked the heavens for, and he made it home with his wallet intact - as much as it could be. Maybe he should have handed some over, just in case… _no, he didn’t follow me,_ he fought his beyond-tipsy thoughts. 

Lantar’s small apartment looked as messy as it had before. No break-ins, no issues, save for being ready to pass out. He made sure to close his curtains and lock the balcony doors beforehand. Then he video- dialed Skinner once he got settled and summarized the event that was a fucking battle-ready turian sweeping him off his feet. Cringe. 

“Did I mention that he looked like a merc? I could have died.”

“You dummy!” Skinner shouted on the screen, seeming fine despite them having the same amount of drinks _and_ Lantar weighing more. “You should’ve forwarded that message.” 

_Of course, the bad luck is to blame._ Lantar rolled his eyes, holding his omni-tool as he drank down a pill for his headache and water.

“I’m watching you roll your eyes.”

Lantar rolled them again.

“I don’t _have_ five friends to send it to. Besides, there were only two minutes until 12, so aren’t you cursed as well?” He reached into his bedside drawer for pajamas, struggling to unfold them.

Skinner scoffed. “Puh-lease, I sent it along. I’m safe. It was nice knowing you, love. Just watch, you’re going to see him again, and even sooner because you were short four people. I always call these things.”

Lantar laughed then put down his omni-tool to change into his lounge set while Skinner lectured on. When he picked it up, the screen was offset to Skinner in bed with a bowl of popcorn, watching something on his extranet. 

It was alien the way he processed alcohol, seriously… 

“Guess I’ve got bad luck ahead of me, then.” 

“Mm. Told you so--haha! Wow, he stole the ship!” Sounds of a movie were overheard through the call. The silence said their conversation was over. 

“Night?”

“Yeah. Cya, love.”

_Click._

Lantar slid into his sheets and then went to bed, not bothering to try and stomach anything else but shame. He’d have to avoid that armored guy in the future if he ever saw him. _Shit, if, again._ The cruel thoughts made him feel like choking. 

_Was he a blue sun?_ They may have been mercs but they were more like a gang, and _did_ wear blue. Plus, the guy had an expensive weapon that only important - read dangerous - people carried. Don’t ask how Lantar knew that.

Lantar quieted his anxiety enough that he could listen to the chatter of the city. He tuned out the noise of the highway, the hate sex one floor up, and the domestic violence one apartment over. _Humans._ Somewhere in the chaos, he finally lulled himself to drunken sleep, settling one last thought. 

_I won’t see him again._

There weren’t many things that Lantar loved, nor things that he hated. He existed and tried his best to know himself. Dancing and drinking were things that helped him think, but when the music stopped, and it was time to go home, it was back to existing. 

Lantar would see the turian again. While it wouldn’t be due to the curse of a chain e-mail, it would prove that bad luck does exist, and sometimes it touches even those with the simplest of hearts.

  
**Part 2 - Taxi, Taxi**

Since drinking with Skinner, Lantar hadn’t seen much of him. It wasn’t unusual for the turian to disappear for days at a time, and Lantar thought nothing of it. He wouldn’t pry about why Skin hadn’t come in to work for the rest of the week, even if he wondered.

If he waited, Skinner might suddenly call asking to meet up or start ranting about someone he’d given up on dating. Their relationship was secretive in that way, but Lantar didn’t mind because he saw such complaints as a luxury. That was more than homeless vorcha on the streets had. Dancing at the club was enough socializing for Lantar, so he pushed away from the thoughts of his one friend. A voice shouted over his shoulder as he climbed down from his station by the dance floor.

“Hey, hot stuff!”

Lantar rolled his eyes, fairly tired from dancing for three hours straight, but he turned around with enticing irises and what might have been a smize. Skinner always said a smile started at your eyes.

“Looking for a dance?” 

The small booth that called to him whooped and a turian with blue marks waved rather noticeably as he walked over, slow and controlled like one of the other dancers had taught him. His outfit, if you could call it that, was a tight top and shorts that were black and glittery, skimming over his muscle-lined plates.

Skinner said the suit made his rear end look, “tasty,” when they first picked it out. _Sigh. Where even is that idiot?_ He glanced at the shorthanded bar before approaching the table. 

“Who’s paying? You don’t think all of this ass is free, do you?” Lantar asked in a sultry, assertive voice.

For a guy who’d clock out in an hour, he didn’t care if the manager wanted him to speak _nicely_ to patrons. Pay me or leave, assholes.

The two faces at the booth shot blue, absorbing the frank words as he stepped onto the table and turned around the pole, not waiting for an answer. Blue turian who called him over composed himself quickly, sitting down and grinning awkwardly.

 _Hmm._ Lantar focused on his face as he placed a hand on his hip, stretching his legs. _It’s different._ He wasn’t as broad, and his blue was on his chin and forehead. There was also green in the center. And of course, the voice didn’t make him feel hot.

“He’s paying!” the same turian chimed, pointing behind them. 

Lantar looked over his shoulder and blinked, surprised. _Well, well._

“Sorry, I’m late.”

A turian, no, _the_ turian with green marks and nice shoulders hurried to the table with a round of drinks. When he made eye contact with Lantar, he said nothing but paused for a moment. He had to recognize him from a week prior.

_You’d better with how I was dancing._

“You’re paying?” Lantar asked, listening to the music for a beat.

Green looked him up from his feet to his eyes, slowly dragging over each inch, and nodded dumbly.

Lantar cleared his throat and rotated his body in small steps to face away from that teasing glare, lest he get angry, or worse, enticed. He chuckled to himself, suddenly glad that he wore one of his better Skinner-approved outfits, dancing on a faster beat as the faces watched.

The two on his left _ooo’d_ when Lantar hoisted his body onto the pole and took one spin around it, but the green turian continued to watch with glazing dark eyes. With each glimpse he got while spinning, he could make out that they were about the same age. 

Lantar decided not to let it bother him, pulling out the few tricks he knew that took little energy as he finished his set and regained his breath. The table was generous with applause, even the fucking tease in green clapped for him. It wasn’t his best.

“Thank you, come again,” he decided to speak sweetly since his day off would start immediately. 

Once he eyed the credit chit to be sure he’d been paid, he smiled, climbing down from the raised pole in a better mood. That and the night’s pay would make up for Skinner’s tab.

At the bar, a woman with a scar under her left eye nodded to him. Everyone called her _Mama,_ but the gossip was that she secretly came from some famous family name. That was the rumor Lantar liked the most. The Hive wasn’t exclusively for men, but she was one of the only female employees.

“Done for the day, Lan?” she asked in that soft flanging voice of hers; it contradicted her pirate-like appearance. No wonder so many of the patrons loved her.

“The week. I don’t want to see another double shift.” He sighed and accepted a courtesy shot slid across the counter. The alcohol tingled his throat comfortably as he leaned into a palm.

“By the way,” she said, refilling a sweet-smelling drink for a customer. “Your boyfriend coming back soon?” 

Lantar shifted awkwardly as a few heads turned slightly. Turians and their hearing… always on the gossip.

“Just saying, covering these shifts is hell. Sunshine called out, too.” That was the other-other bartender with a shit attitude, and, you guessed it, a hit with the guys.

Lantar rolled his eyes. “Who knows what Skin is up to, I’m not his babysitter.”

She looked amused. “Word was that you lived together.” 

_In this hell city, sure._ “Mm. We don’t.” He lowered his drink.

“Shame.”

Lantar sat for a moment longer at the bar, resting his tired legs. It would soon be 0400 hours. Good, there would be few people outside and he could avoid the scurry of drunks kicked out of bars at closing time.

“Fine,” she said after making someone a drink, smiling so that her eye patch wrinkled, “I know that guy can’t be tied down.” True. “I’m inquiring since I see you’ve got a stalker. You know I sell only the freshest gossip at the hive, especially if our Lan might be taken away from us.”

“Oh?” he asked, not very excited by the proposition as he knew exactly who she meant. “Green guy?”

“Not sure I’ve seen him around.” Her eyes drifted behind him. “I thought maybe a tourist since his tunic is nice, but one of the guys said they’ve seen him before. Still, that whole table looks so…”

“Untainted,” he finished. _Like they’ve never been double-mugged._

It had happened during Lantar’s second month in the city; the first guy took his pay, and the second took his jacket. Not all turians were rough in Omega, or in a low-income class, but most were normal civilians and had a look in their eye that said they weren’t ignorant of the shithole’s crime rate.

_Maybe I’m just a pessimist._

A pair of women sat down two seats over, waving for a drink, and Lantar thanked Mama as she moved to serve them. After sitting and thinking by himself, he went behind the counter and pulled his stash from his cubby; a full-body outfit and shoes.

~*~

“Uh, hey,” a voice said behind him.

Lantar turned slowly, seeing the green turian with the great shoulders staring at him. Instinctively, he crossed his arms, even though there was no need to hide in plain clothes. 

“Here to stare some more?” he asked, not knowing himself why he sounded so rude, the turian had done nothing other than being a fucking tease. Did he mention that?

“No,” green said, taking a step closer. 

Lantar took a step back, feeling the buzz from his one drink on his tongue.

The green-faced guy seemed to realize something and then said awkwardly, “Ah, I’m Nuril. I don’t mean to come off creepy.”

“Lan.” _Too late for that._

Nuril saw that he didn’t respond and then added, “I… wondered if you wanted to go get a drink. I’m staying close to here and-”

“Alright.” Lantar pulled his jacket up to block the breeze and started walking, leaving the other turian’s jaw gaped.

“Ah-o-okay!” 

“Where are you from?” Lantar asked, knowing that was the main thing you didn’t ask on Omega. 

Nuril didn’t respond at first, following next to him, an awkward stance about him. “Here and there, was born on the homeland.” _Like most._

Lantar smiled. “Guess you’re not new to the place, then. No one really answers that.” 

Nuril eyes lingered over him. “Yeah, guess not.” 

Lantar found the silence odd, but he didn’t show it. His legs were tired, but he hardly turned down an opportunity to drink and dance. Nuril must be paying with the way he tipped. If not, he could afford one or two drinks.

“I, uh, you looked good before, but…” Nuril rubbed his head awkwardly, seeming short despite his three-inch gain on Lantar. “I thought you were seeing someone already, like that guy you were with.”

Lantar hummed, stopping at a crossroad to look Nuril up and down. The turian had a nice figure to him. “Maybe I am.” He wasn’t. “Maybe I’m not.” He _really_ wasn’t.

Nuril’s face was awkward, but he had a tint in his eye that made Lantar wait for him to speak. “Well, whatever that other guy has, I’ve got better.” 

_Oh?_ Lantar couldn’t help but chuckle. Damn, it’d been so long since he’d been blatantly picked up and flirted with. Okay, a few weeks. _Still._ For a nervous wreck, he found the green-face turian interesting. That could also have been him not sleeping with anyone since. 

“How much better?” Lantar took a step closer, a purr in his voice as his voice brushed his face. “I’m not some dancer you can just bend over. Show me a good time. Make me laugh.”

Nuril’s face blued, and his mandibles widened in a smile, his heart picking up, which Lantar could almost hear. “I-I know you’re not, I like that-”

 _So you asked about me?_ Lantar raised a talon, finished with his questions. “Drinking first, you can pick the place.”

“Let’s go to Fleet, their cocktails really make for a good time.”

Lantar’s brow raised. _That pricey place?_ Then he smiled back. “Lead the way, shoulders.”

~*~

 _Ah._ Lantar heard a voice moaning out, it had to be his own with the way his pants were around his ankles and he leaned over a soft surface.

Talons gripped him tightly as hips slammed into him again. He groaned, grabbing at the side of a lamp table in Spirits-knows room.

Nuril huffed in his ear, not letting up his punishing pace. It came back slowly, barely, and then it didn’t. Lantar couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there, in that apartment. They were drinking. He was flirting back. Dancing against him. Making out in an alley. 

Did he want to do this? He didn’t know. It felt good. Passing the time. He pressed his elbows into the couch, arching his back over the arm. _Maybe._

A sound escaped and a growl as Nuril scratched him hard, pushing him over the edge roughly. Lantar felt some release inside himself, and then only numbness as Nuril slowed to a stop, sighing in his ear, removing his tight grip from his hips. He hadn’t gone deep enough to draw blood, but it left a sensation.

“Ah, thanks for that.” Nuril’s weight moved from his body as Lantar nodded back, an odd feeling in his stomach and his head. 

The green turian rubbed his back gently. “You’re okay? You said you didn’t mind it a little rough.”

“Y-yea,” Lantar said, moving from his position to sit on the couch, pulling his pants over his legs shakily. “I like it rough.” He must have said that earlier.

Nuril smiled, pulling up his pants before lowering to the floor in front of Lantar, rubbing a hand over his knees to help him. 

“You drank a lot, I can get you some water. I should’ve thought of that first, sorry,” he added in a purr. “You were just so excited, saying all types of things.”

“I’d like water.” How much had he drank?

The question went unanswered as the other turian helped him adjust himself fully and then walked into the kitchenette. Lantar looked around him as though seeing the apartment for the first time. It was nicer than his and much larger. By the landscape outside of the windows, he was still near the club strip in South. 

“You own this place yourself?” Lantar asked, pulling his jacket over his thighs for some warmth. Draft from a vent above him tickled down his shoulders.

A chuckle met him as Nuril returned with two glasses of water. “I told you about me, remember?” 

_No, I don’t._

“It’s just something my ex paid for. Lease ends soon” 

When did he say that?

“Ah, right. Secret spoiled guy.” Lantar didn’t recognize his own words.

Nuril handed him the glass, holding it steady so that he could drink it down. Water cooling his throat felt good, and Lantar could feel some of his faculties returning.

“Not really, I just get a little help sometimes. This is a glorified hotel, really.”

“More than I can afford,” Lantar didn’t say, watching Nuril sit down next to him, looking refreshed while he felt… so tired.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Nuril asked again with those gazing eyes, teasing into Lantar’s cowl. He had a soft growl to his voice as he leaned closer. “You said you worked a lot, so I hope I didn’t push it.”

Lantar nodded, an instinct to leave as Nuril touched foreheads with him and rubbed a hand on his cowl. Why didn’t he want to stay? The hand stroking him felt nice, but… 

“Yeah, I had a double shift.” Lantar’s body leaned onto his shoulder and he rubbed him there, admitting that it felt okay to cozy up against something warm, ignoring his nerves.

“You’re welcome to stay the night.”

“Hm. Okay.” Lantar hummed, closing his eyes, the view of a large screen tv in front of him flicking through channels, and the feeling of those shoulders wrapped around him. It didn’t matter how he’d gotten there. He wanted to sleep. 

_Ring-ring-ring-it’s-me-hun!_

“Ski-” Lantar stirred from his short rest, blinking and looking around. He was laying on the other turian who’s arms slithered around him. 

“Your phone’s ringing,” Nuril whispered in his ear sleepily. “Just silence it if you’re tired.”

Lantar sat up slowly, raising his wrist. _Ring-ring-ring._ The sing-song voice silenced and Nuril removed his hand from his arm. He smiled. “There.”

Light flashed against the screen as the call rang out soundlessly this time. Lantar stared at the name: _Best Babe,_ and then the time: _0648_

“Shit,” he mumbled, “I have to answer it.” 

“Who would call you at this hour, anyway?” Nuril asked, a hint of curiosity and something else to his voice. “Boyfriend?”

Lantar hovered over the answer key. When would he ever not pick up a call from Skinner? Something felt off with himself.

“Just ignore it.” Nuril rubbed his shoulder.

“It could be important.”

The other turian scoffed, prompting Lantar to raise a brow. 

“Is that a problem?”

“Ah, no,” he said shyly, “Just… it feels weird that someone would bother you at this hour. Feels a little like harassment.”

Lantar answered the call, rising from the warm hold he was in, stilling himself as his knees shook. 

The voice line was stable and then rippling as Skinner shouted out, “Babe, are you still awake!?”

Wincing at the sound, Lantar moved his wrist farther from his face, sounding more tired than he intended. “Yeah, are you okay?” 

“I should ask you that.” 

“I haven’t seen you in days.” 

Skinner laughed, which confused Lantar more as he stood staring at a silent TV. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, puh-lease, don’t act like you weren’t having a blast without me. I can’t believe you were drinking and didn’t invite me.”

Lantar stopped his pace around the coffee table, staring at the orange screen with confused eyes. “Last week-”

“No, I mean tonight.” Skinner laughed. “Don’t think I don’t get all the latest.”

Nuril crossed a leg, looking at Lantar with curious eyes. “You really did drink a lot, don’t you want to sleep some more?”

“Maybe, wait-” Lantar raised a hand, turning back to the screen.

“Um! Wow! Is someone there!? You scandalous little-!”

Lantar smiled sheepishly. “Oh, shut up. You’ve been having your fun for days and didn’t even call once.” He paced across the large space to the balcony, pushing the glass door open for fresh air. 

_That feels better._

“Well, it’d be more fun if you were here to hang out.”

Lantar yawned. “No way, too tired.”

“Suit yourself! My taxi’s here anyway.”

“Taxi?” Lantar shook his head and smiled. “This close before daytime, you are seriously-” 

A hand trailed around Lantar’s waist as he froze over the words, the city sounds suddenly growing quieter.

_“Remember, if we ever want to check on each other, let’s say something stupid about taxi’s!” Skinner shouted drunkly._

_Lantar laughed as they poured drinks at his coffee table, sitting on floor pillows. “That’s so dumb, no, wait, that could be really smart. It’s too vague, though.”_

_“Hmm.” His face lit up. “How about this! If we’re fine, don’t say it back, but if you need help, say it twice,” Skinner said, grabbing him and looking into his eyes._

_A scoff met him. “Speak for yourself with all your boyfriends~” Lantar drank another shot._

“I didn’t know taxi’s operated this late,” Nuril said in a purr, rubbing at Lantar’s shoulders again.

_Wait._

Skinner’s giggle met him. “I can talk after I get in the taxi, babe.”

_Wait._

“Taxi? Are you sure about the taxi?” Lantar felt his heart picking up as hands stroked his shoulders and waist, sending shivers up his back in the cool air. “It’s late, if you don’t feel safe, I can come to walk you.”

“You don’t even know where I am, silly.” Skinner giggled. 

“Yeah, he could be in a different district,” Nuril murmured in his ear, licking along the side of his mandible. 

Lantar let out a chuckle. “You’re right. I don’t know where you are at all. Probably near the club strip like usual.”

“Lan-”

“Call you later when I’m feeling better, alright?”

Lantar hung up his line and then looked at the turian over his shoulder, watching him as he pressed _end call_ , then seeming satisfied.

“What a funny guy,” Nuril said, planting a kiss on his cheek. “He’ll have to wait until another time, you’re all mine tonight.”

Before he could respond, Nuril’s arms wrapped around his waist and hoisted him up. Lantar wasn’t surprised by his strength, hell, most turians had some, but the action itself made him yelp and hug Nuril.

“R-right now? A-again?” He was carried to the couch and laid down on it.

“Mmm, why not, I’m awake now.” Nuril took a bite at his chin. “So are you.”

Lantar felt his stomach jump as Nuril placed weight on him, taking soft licks against his neck. He could move his thighs as he wiggled against the sofa. “Ah- wait-” 

Nuril growled in his throat, those eyes glazing into him again. “What is it?”

With some effort, Lantar pushed his shoulders until he could sit up, but it was like half his strength was gone. “I-I’m worried about him, he said he’s okay but-”

Nuril’s eyes were plain, and he blinked. “That guy who called? You’re still on about that?”

Lantar nodded, untangling his legs with slow motions, keeping his heart steady. “It’s just- he’s not from around here, so-”

“Then he shouldn’t be out alone.” Nuril snatched at his wrist and rubbed softly, pulling his body forward. “You’re both adults, right?”

Lantar paused, thinking over the statement. He didn’t want to pause, but his words had left him. It didn’t make sense, but his body responded so quickly as Nuril snaked his arms up his back, tickling the skin sensitive between his plates.

“Ah-” Lantar shook his head, fighting the feeling. “It’s different-” He found himself struggling out of the tight grip again until he pushed up from the couch with his knees, leaving space between them, breathing heavier from the effort.

An unsatisfied look met him. “You sure? If you’re just nervous, I can make you a drink? Or, I’ll go with you-”

Lantar took two steps back as Nuril grabbed his hand again. “No, he’s really important to me, so-”

Nuril sighed. “I understand. It’s your decision, I don’t mean to pressure you.”

“No, you’re not-”

“You’re right.” Nuril rubbed his hand. “You can do what you want, and I’d be happy to see you again. I had fun tonight.”

“Me too.” Lantar let go, snatching up his light zip-up fleece from the armchair and snaking it around his shoulders. 

He walked down a long corridor before he reached a door.

Once the door opened and he stepped into an elaborate hallway, he exhaled, feeling a weight off his chest, but that grogginess still poked at his head. Being drunk he’d gladly make dumb decisions, but it felt more like his body was doing the complete opposite of what he wanted.

The building he was in had to be frequented by those with money. Whether good or bad money, usually bad, he didn’t want to know. Each door was several feet from the next; the apartments were spacious.

Lantar heard Nuril’s door open, and he didn’t linger, hurrying down the nearest fire escape, not bothering to try the elevator. 

~*~

Skinner sat in the backseat of a black car, tapping his hands against his thighs, breath quick in the dark. “He’s not calling back. Should I call? I should call. Do you think I should call?” He looked to the right with blinking eyes.

A turian with dark gray marks, so faded that he almost looked barefaced, sighed. He was broad in his entire body, and half a foot taller than most of his kind. 

“I don’t know the guy,” he answered in a deep, rough voice, mature like his age. “But if that’s not how he usually is, it’s either alcohol or drugs.”

“That’s not like him drunk.” Skinner shook his head, bouncing his knees. “He drinks, I mean we all do, but he’s not into that stuff. I think he used our code, too.”

“Taxi?”

Skinner flinched at how quick the older turian picked it up, his face growing hot. He wasn’t older out of luck, but out of experience. Taking no answer, the turian whose car Skinner sat in placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing his neck and spine with one hand.

“Trust me, if you’re talking in code with an impaired guy, he’s not an idiot, he’ll make it home. I’ve seen guys take all types of shit, but as long as you’re not taking it back to back, it fades.”

That gave Skinner no joy, tensing further into the warm hand. He wasn’t from Omega himself, and certainly partied more than Lantar, but that was why he never worried. Skinner had gotten high before, but Lantar wasn’t like that. "Taxi" was a phrase they made up drunk one night as a joke. It made him feel anxious.

“He said he’s near the clubs… and I think he doesn’t feel well.” 

“Hey, relax,” The deep voice brought him back to realize he was shaking, and the forehead pressing to him with a calming scent. “We can reschedule.”

“R-really?” Skinner looked at him with glossy, hazel eyes.

The older turian nodded, placing a kiss on his nose. Gentle was he, for a man who could probably strangle him with that same hand. One who worked around the most dangerous names in Omega. Lantar might have a heart attack if he knew Skinner was sitting next to him.

Skinner shook his head, climbing out of his seat and onto lightly armored thighs, releasing a lustful smell.

“No, let’s do this,” he whispered as those large hands slithered around his waist, allowing Skinner to sink into the touch and tongue-kiss him. 

He broke away after a hot moment, quitting his fluttering heart. The turian would work soon, regardless, and then Skinner could leave. _I’ll be quick._

“Come upstairs,” Skinner whispered.

~*~

Lantar walked at a slower pace than intended, knowing that the short nap he took did him no justice. His body was exhausted from working, dancing, being with Nirul, making sense of the night. He could remember flirting, but not the rest, and it should have been coming back by now.

Part of him didn’t want to go home, even though he had a day to himself. His clothes were unstylish, but that didn’t matter in the barely-night. Lantar took the long way, drifting through streets that he typically avoided.

South wasn’t one of the areas littered with homeless vorcha, not like the lower market, and he felt comfortable living around so many guys who were like him, among other species. The district wasn’t a utopia.

“Hey,” a small voice said, making Lantar curse under his breath.

He stopped in front of a closed store and turned around slowly. “Tish, are you fucking kidding me?”

She looked shocked at his words. That made two of them.

“Sorry,” he corrected himself immediately before her lip quivered, rushing his words. “It’s just really late, I really don’t want to see you wandering the streets at this hour.”

The salarian composed herself with mature efficacy and crossed her arms. “It’s early. I was going for a walk.”

Lantar didn’t believe her until she opened her omni-tool and showed him the time, 0715. “Spirits” he shook his head. _How long was I walking around like an idiot?_

“Sorry,” he said again for good measure. _Yelling at a kid, what the fuck is wrong with me?_ He never acted so irritably.

“You’re dressed funny.” She said, looking him up and down with judging eyes. 

Lantar grumbled under his breath. That was because he had thrown on anything before leaving home. His job very much didn’t discriminate over clothes considering he took them off, but he wouldn’t tell that to a child.

“Well, I left my security uniform at work,” he muttered.

Tish hummed, and then accepted the response, walking at a slow pace with him. She had that same gun strapped to her hip. It matched her outfit, and looked subtle - one might not see it from far away.

“Are you always out this early?” he asked, walking nowhere.

She shrugged. “Brother said I should go eat breakfast since he had to meet with a business friend.”

 _Yeah, right._ Lantar furrowed his eyes. _And leave your sister all alone?_ Ish was a salarian smuggler whom Lantar wouldn’t be able to pick out on the street, but he despised him in theory.

Tish read his face. “Other kids wake up in an hour.” She pointed at a building. “Sara lives there, she’s a human and likes to play ‘hop-scotch’. A simple game, not very educational, but it passes the time.”

Lantar nodded, listening to her point at other buildings and houses that he didn’t pay attention to, mentioning children of different races and some preference about them. Had he sounded nervous for her to be explaining things to him?

“That’s good that you’re not alone,” he said quietly, staring at the sky growing brighter as businesses turned on their lights in the distance. It was still gray overall.

“Lantar,” she said, stirring him from his trance.

 _You never say my name._ He looked down, shifting uncomfortably at the face that met him. Tish’s red face stared hard against him, making him glance away embarrassed. 

“You have slow coordination and impaired reaction time. You are much more irritable than usual. How interesting.”

Lantar sighed, lowering his shoulders. “I stayed up all night and drank too much like a stupid adult. Which you should never do.”

“Hm.” She seemed to think. “Noted. Can I have a sample of your saliva?”

“What?” Lantar looked down at a small container being pushed into his talons. 

With a sigh, he raised it to his mouth and spit, dropping it into a plastic bag that she also had. There was little use in saying no, or fighting back the odd request, his brain rationalized. 

“I see you are also more agreeable than normal… in some cases, that can be a symptom of…”

Lantar tuned out her words and his thoughts, seeing a pair of bodies waddle toward them, ten yards out. “Hey, run off, Tish.”

She flinched, seeming to pick up on the energy of the krogan and batarian staring in their direction as they drew closer. What the fuck was he even doing out? _Why do I have to be here right now?_

Being a smart alec salarian couldn’t compare to a turian’s senses, that primal feeling when danger would arise and their heightened hearing, but him being drunk leveled the playing field, if not see-saw’d it.

He’d heard it. 

_“Isn’t that the kid of that bastard who shorted us? Maybe he’ll think twice seeing her roughed up a little.”_

She heard it, too.

“Tish. Home,” he used a tone more assertive despite his body struggling to push from the spot he stood. She was right, he was reacting slow to things, but it was like his mind kept going as they drew closer.

Tish flinched, and then pulled Lantar’s hand, surprising him. “Come this way.”

“Wait-” he snapped, watching the demeanor of the two bodies change before they scuttled into an alley-way.

He looked back, seeing that they weren’t followed _yet._ “Tish, I told you-” his words slowed as she disappeared before his eyes. 

“This way.” Lantar blinked, hearing the shuffling of feet as he looked down into a shutter in the ground that looked like it wouldn’t fit him. For a child, it would be spacious. “Come on.”

Lantar shook his head, reaching a hand forward to push her face back. “I’ll distract them.” He didn’t know why he said this. 

The feet were getting closer. Even if he climbed in, krogan hearing superseded even his, drunk or not. They wouldn’t get far. A vorcha might fit. He wasn’t armed.

Tish narrowed her eyes and said, “You’re not this selfless,” sticking a hand out.

The words stunned him, but they worked. _“You’re right, I’m not.”_ He accepted it and shuffled his body to a crouch and struggled into the small space. 

~*~

Lantar wasn’t ideal by turian women’s high standards. When you did the most important job to a militaristic species, creating more of them, you were allowed to be picky. His muscles were thick and expressive, but his waist wasn’t trim. He was tall, but not turian tall. 

Never in his life had he imagined that being able to fit into a space that he very much should not have would save him. Once his cowl fit, he could duck his head in and close the shutter tight.

_Bam._

“FU-”

“Shhh,” Tish smacked a hand over his face, hitting him in the mandible. He struggled not to shout again, the back of his head aching where he had bumped it against a pipe.

How many crawl spaces like that were there in the city? He didn’t like it, it was too cramped, too hot, and smelled weird. 

The salarian girl could walk while crouched over, but he had to crawl on hand and knee, thankful that he only wore clothes and not armor like mercs.

 _Shit._ That meant his clothes would smell once - and if - he survived wherever they were going. What if the fumes killed him?

“Did you see where they went?” that throaty krogan voice echoed, sending a shiver up his spine. He looked up, seeing a few metal slits in the ground that showed light changing.

They stood under where the krogan and vorcha were. Who knows how long he would have lasted in a fight being impaired. Seconds. One-hit KO.

Lantar calmed his heart and looked forward, watching Tish start to move again, and he followed, keeping as quiet as he could. They were close to the ground by the sounds of people walking and cars flying by. He followed her for five minutes, a feeling of panic as the vent grew smaller. 

_“Hey,”_ he whispered, “It’s getting tight.”

“Almost there.”

“How much farther?” he rushed his words, crawling at a faster space as claustrophobia edged at his skin.

“H-here,” she said, climbing on hand and knee as the ground leveled to a slope. 

Lantar swore, squeezing his chest through the tight space and then sitting in front of a vent gate that she struggled to push open.

“Get back.” He willed strength in his body and shoved at the metal frame until the bolts popped.

Tish crawled out first, and Lantar rolled his body after, which his impaired brain hated him for. He was surprised that the vent this time was on horizontal land. _I get it… an old eezo vent._

Finally, he could finally take a breath of fresh air, or, less tainted than in a sewer passage. Who would’ve thought a turian could fit through there. _Never again._

“Do you always travel through those?”

She pouted and placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t even think about saying it’s dangerous. I wouldn’t if it was currently used, I’m not a four-year-old.”

Lantar sighed, staring down at her. “I won’t. Do you have somewhere safe you can go?”

Tish nodded, walking with him out of the alley. He could see that he was close to the intersection where his apartment was. _Thank the Spirits._

There was a park nearby if she followed the street perpendicular to his. Parents, other kids, that seemed safer than staying with him. She stared at his face as he stood under the traffic sign - as if those stopped reckless drivers - reading his expression.

“I’m going.”

Lantar blinked, looking at the back of her head as she crossed the street and walked away. “Ah, okay.”

She looked back. “Don’t sleep on a ben-”

“I won’t!” he snapped, turning sharply on his foot, rolling his eyes. He could tell by the back of her head that she was laughing at him. Seriously, how mature were the kids on a freaking asteroid?

At her age, he would’ve been traumatized being chased by a pyjak let alone a vorcha with all of those razor-sharp teeth and a krogan as big as they were.

 _Tired, exhausted, beat,_ his brain reminded him, and he trudged home with the little bit of energy he had left.

~*~

“Lantar?” a concerned voice said as he stood in front of his apartment door staring at it. He turned slowly, swallowing, and then relieved as Skinner gazed at him with glossy eyes. “I- I thought something.”

“Inside.”

Skinner gulped down his words and nodded, approaching as he unlocked the door. They stepped inside the messy apartment, the same as he had left it. Following a short hallway in, Lantar fought to take off his jacket and tossed it to the floor. And then he struggled out of his pants, leaving only the short glittery layer that he danced in.

“It still looks good.” Talons wrapped around his shoulder and Skinner leaned over him, head rested in his cowl. “Do you know how long I was waiting, scared that something happened?”

“Long enough to get laid,” Lantar said quietly, listening to his own voice echo in his ear the way it did before he usually slept and passed out.

Skinner sniffed his neck, earning an uncomfortable shift. “Speak for yourself. I don’t know if you smell like alcohol, sex, or trash.”

“All of the above.” 

Lantar didn’t meet his confused glare, instead trudging toward the couch to flop onto his stomach, swearing when the sore part of his fringe touched the back of the couch. Fatigue that he’d fought for minutes pulled him into sleep, almost.

“Are you okay?” Skinner asked, sitting next to Lantar on the floor when he peeked an eye open.

“Drank too much, haven’t… enough… sleep.” Lantar closed his eye. 

Skinner made a _hmm_ sound in his throat, touching their foreheads before picking up a blanket off the floor and draping it over him.

Even while asleep, Lantar was glad to finally not go through anything else that would raise his blood pressure. There were sounds of the day muffled as the windows were closed, alerting his body that he was safe and could fully rest on the couch, not alone like usual. 

In hindsight, he would have gladly relived the passed day if it meant avoiding the subsequent weeks that would follow... when everything changed.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Do leave a comment if you enjoyed. I’ve wanted to start an Omega story for some time so I hope it turns out good.

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter soon!


End file.
